Seeing the Light
by Aki4
Summary: Sometimes it takes a taste of darkness to make you see the light. 58 and unabashed sap.


Title: Seeing the Light (don't kill me, bad puns are my drug.)  
  
Summary: Thee Oldeste Trick inn thee Booke.  
  
Dedicated to: UltraM2000, Timms (sorry about the nicky, babes, if it offends you just let me know), chiefraz, stitcher2ficcer (thanks for the confidence boost, and note that i did NOT say this fic was crappy, even though it--argh, just thanks, ok?), krimson, and queasy, for reviewing Kitchen. =)  
  
Additional note: Then Go is in progress. If I don't come out with a chapter in a day or two review and kick my ass into gear.  
  
Caveat: I wrote this purely for fun. It's cliche, sappy, and makes NO pretense at any literary merit whatsoever. That said, 58 fans will (hopefully) adore. *grin*  
  
He knew he was dying. The knowledge came to him, unbidden, as he lay tangled in darkness.  
  
He still couldn't figure out how it had happened. That wasn't the way he wanted to die. It looked like he wasn't going to have much of a choice, and it pissed him off how that surprised him when it really shouldn't have. When the hell had he ever had a say in how things went? It hadn't been his idea to go on this stupid journey. If he'd wanted to travel, he would've picked someplace exotic, someplace where the heat made women take their clothes off instead of covering themselves up the way they did in the desert. Gods. Desert. Of all the fucking places to die, it had to be in a desert. He'd heard that the southern countries had green mountains and brown-skinned women who wore white dresses slit high up the thighs, who twittered like sparrows when they laughed and screamed like cats when you made them come. He'd wanted to die like that, in a shady hut somewhere with the taste of fresh coconut milk in his mouth, with his hands cupping soft, warm breasts.   
  
If he were being honest he could admit that maybe he wouldn't have minded dying with Hakkai's cooking in his mouth and a winning hand of cards. It wouldn't have been a bad way to go; there had to be half a chance that those cilantro and pork dumplings would have brought him back to life. And if he were really being honest, he could maybe admit that he didn't want to die at all. Twenty two wasn't a whole lot of years, and he didn't even count the ones between ten and eighteen. He could barely remember them, but he wasn't particularly looking forward to seeing them again when he got to the "flashing past your eyes" bit.  
  
What had he done, really, to justify the existence that was about to be terminated? He'd been a thief before he was even born, according to Mom, had stolen her husband from her. He'd been a murderer since he was ten, guilty of matricide and maybe fratricide too. For all he knew, Jien was dead, or gone postal like all the other youkai in the West. The ultimate in irony, if his bastard birth had saved him from a similar fate. /Mother, look at your favorite son now.../  
  
The thought horrified him, and he hastened to blame it on the delirium of death. It was getting harder to think, and he was increasingly aware of the discomfort he was in. His body seemed to be burning, it was so hot. The bastards didn't even have the decency to lie him in the shade. Maybe there wasn't any shade to be had; they'd been miles from the next village the last time he checked. His tongue felt swollen. He wanted a drink desperately, and couldn't shape the words with his stiffened lips.  
  
Where was Hakkai? He didn't seem like the kind to let a man die thirsty. He was so good at things like that, refilling cups before they were empty. Not even the monk was as indifferent as he tried to seem. But then again, he only said those prayers for the dead. What a shame. He wouldn't get to hear them, likely. But then again, Sanzo had said something about that too.   
  
All in all it didn't seem fair. That cross-dressing, blood-sucking bitch had said that they'd need to work together to succeed. They weren't even at Tenjiku yet, and here he was, dying on them. Should've known better than to rely on his sorry ass, he supposed, but that wasn't much comfort. He wasn't sure if they'd be better off without him. He'd been okay with the idea of dying for the mission, really. When he thought about it he knew that there were things more important than Sha Gojyo that had to go on. But he'd somehow pictured it being in the Final Battle--going down with all flags flying, or maybe saving someone else's ass. Not like this, smothering in the dark and heat in the middle of nowhere. Now he'd never know if they'd manage it or not.   
  
Now he'd never know a lot of things. He'd been looking forward to some of them, too, like teaching the monkey about girls. He was almost positive that Gokuu would one day discover an interest in something he couldn't eat--or at least, not with chopsticks--and when that day came, he was just as sure that the so-called unattached monk would blow a gasket. And he'd planned on being around to see it.   
  
He'd planned on changing a few things when he got back, too. Maybe get some schooling, try to learn something aside from card-sharping. Guess this was the universe telling him what a dumbass plan that had been. He thought he probably could have had a shot at it, though. Hakkai would have helped him, he was sure. Hakkai still loved to do things like that. It was obvious from the way he sometimes explained things to Gokuu, volunteering information until the idiot ape's attention turned inevitably back to his stomach. There was a lot of information still stuck in that head, centuries of history and pages of poems and gods knew how much other useless shit. Sometimes he got a look on his face and quoted things in a soft, caressing way, and it was like he was talking about a pretty girl he used to fuck, only it would be some Tang dynasty verse about boats on a river.   
  
He hoped that Hakkai didn't die, at least. The man deserved a second death better than his first. He'd thought before that he wouldn't have minded dying if it meant taking a shot for Hakkai. It had been a small, private thought then, but there wasn't much point in keeping secrets from himself at this stage, was there?  
  
There didn't seem to be much point in having kept secrets at all, really, and why the fuck did he have to think about Hakkai as he was dying? Even if he'd lived to be a hundred years old there never would have been anything in those green eyes but a vague sort of cheer, and nothing in that shattered heart but guilt. And that was fair, that was ok. He hadn't expected anything else. They weren't cut out for happily-ever-afters, neither of them. And yet...and yet...  
  
  
  
He'd known dying wasn't going to be much fun, but he'd hoped it would be a lot...faster.   
  
There was time to think, as he slowly slipped further into the darkness, and time to regret.   
  
Those goddamned poets were right, it was sharper than knives...  
  
The urge to cry was suddenly thick in his throat. Somehow his nerves were managing to give him the full benefit of sensory input without allowing him to send anything the other way, and he was horribly helpless to stop the two thick tears that seeped beneath his eyelids. If he hadn't been dying the shame alone would probably have killed him.   
  
Gods, he thought fervently, if You have any sense of mercy at all just let me die now, so I can at least die like a man. And to his immense relief, he finally felt himself sliding further into the darkness, leaving the fever behind, although pain still echoed in his heart. There was, he noted with satisfaction, no slideshow of his sordid life. But neither was there any light.  
  
He thought he heard, just before he fell away, someone asking, "Is it working yet? Oh look--" the voice sounded half surprised, half horrified. "--he's crying." It sounded like Gokuu.  
  
Oh well, he thought. Better the dumb ape than Hakkai. He had a feeling the kid would somehow understand.   
  
And then the darkness swallowed him.  
  
~*~  
  
He woke up with a headache that threatened to pound him back into unconsciousness. "Whrr?"   
  
That couldn't have been his voice croaking, could it?   
  
He tried to crack his eyes open. This had to be the mother of hangovers. He'd had friends who'd gone completely dry after one bad experience. He thought he could understand that idea, now.   
  
A blessedly cool, damp cloth landed over his face, blotting out whatever it was he'd been about to see. Hakkai's voice sounded through it, a touch exasperated even through the placid cheer. "Are you done having a sunstroke yet? Sanzo's getting quite restless, and has threatened to simply toss you into the back without so much as handkerchief for cover."  
  
"Sun...stroke?" There. That sounded a little more like speech, even if the consonants were a little fuzzy.  
  
"You were running quite the fever before we figured it out. Did no one ever tell you to drink water when crossing a desert?" Now there was more than a touch of exasperation.  
  
"Huh?" Come to think of it, his brains did feel kind of...broiled. He held the cloth to his eyes, and sat up slowly, feeling about as strong as a kitten. When he peeled the cloth away Hakkai was standing in front of him, holding out a cup. The room was dark and unfamiliar, all the shades drawn. An old electric fan sat in the middle of the room, the whirring generating a warm breeze. It looked to be a crude hut, and he could understand Sanzo's irritation at being forced to stay.   
  
"Drink this, please."   
  
He took the cup of water and drained it, too grateful to even resent the fussy command.   
  
"So...what happened?" His words were coming so slowly, they felt as if they had to be individually squeezed out of his mouth. Lining them up in his mind took effort.  
  
"You allowed yourself to dehydrate by only drinking beer, developed heatstroke, passed out in the back of Jeep, and got progressively more feverish, grew delirious, and forced Jeep to gun it for about two hours over the hot sand before we could get you to a village." Hakkai recited the list mercilessly, pinning him with a monocled glare as he squirmed. "They don't have much by the way of air conditioning here, but we managed to get you to drink a sleeping potion with cooling herbs. You had yourself a nice nap, and I see, managed to wake up good as new."  
  
"Not quite," and he winced at the feeling in his eyeballs when he looked at the door. "Could sure use a cold beer."   
  
"Have some herbal tea." The voice could have been made of steel. The steel melted abruptly, as Hakkai asked, "Gojyo, may I ask you a question?"  
  
"Knock yourself out." He sipped at the tea, trying to swish it in his mouth, letting the bitterness clean out the thick dry taste of fever.   
  
"Why were you crying?"  
  
He nearly dropped the tea, and was glad that he could blame the tremor on the fever. Though Hakkai, sharp as he was, would probably never buy it. "What--are you talking about?" He couldn't stop his voice from stuttering a little and cursed inside. It was too much, remembering the pain all at once. His throat ached sharply, and not with thirst.  
  
"Never mind," the other man said quietly. "I'm sorry, it isn't my place to pry." He stood, and said, "I'll go fetch Goku. He was quite worried--he thought he should've noticed sooner, you know."  
  
He didn't know, but he knew that Hakkai was going to leave, and that when the man came back he would have already convinced himself that it was better not to say a word. "Hakkai--wait." The man froze, looking surprised, and the words nearly died on his sandy tongue. He forced himself to remember what it had felt like to die, and rasped out, "I'll tell you what I was thinking, if you come here a sec." Obediently, with polite caution, the man sat down on the bed beside him, and turned to him attentively. He watched those eyes widen as he reached a hand out to touch the cheek, hooking gently behind the jawbone to draw it in. There was no resistance, not even when he brought their lips together, and there was just enough time for him to wonder if Hakkai was surprised, after all.   
  
It was gentler and newer and far more frightening than his first kiss had ever been. It lasted longer than he'd meant it to, if only because he couldn't bring himself to look into the man's eyes. But after a brief eternity he forced himself to let go and watch Hakkai pull away, the look in his eyes unsmiling and too deep to read.   
  
"What...was that?" The question was soft, but with Hakkai, he could have been simply waiting for a time to strike.   
  
"One less reason to cry," he said simply, and waited for the words to fall like a blow. He found that so far, he couldn't bring himself to regret it.   
  
When Hakkai looked down at his hands and said, even more softly and a little unsteadily, "I'm...not worth crying over," he thought it was safe to say he probably never would.  
  
"Fuck that. You are if I say you are. Say that again and I'll...get another sunstroke." The laughter his threat provoked made the hut seem less dark, somehow. Hakkai's cool forehead pressing against his had him grinning like an idiot.   
  
When he died, whenever that was, he had a feeling it wouldn't feel so dark then either.   
  
  
  
~*~  
  
hey guys =) as usual, feedback is read, reread, worshipped, and bronzed. also, i'm sorry--i hate it when ppl do this, but i've honestly gotten lazy about posting everything i write to ff.net. this is a rare exception, my decision to post this story simultaneously, and that's coz for some reason i was particularly craving feedback. some snippets of mine are in my lj and i haven't gotten around to posting, so if you wanna see what you missed, hop along to my lj and check the memories. hopefully soon i'll get the new archive, goingwest, in order and then you'll have a multi-author site to reference for all my stuff.  
  
~Aki 


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